Sometimes the locals just can’t get the job done. Maybe it’s competence. Maybe it’s confidence. Maybe the target is too sensitive to use someone who can be tied to someone else. Some situations are delicate. That’s when those in charge bring in the big gun, an outsider, someone who can get it done and get out quickly. Someone deniable without the baggage that seems to drag down everybody else in this town. But it’s never that simple; no job is. Any job that went down easy was either done wrong, has consequences you ain’t seen yet, or was a million-to-one fluke. If I was you, I’d bet on the first two.

You’re probably ex-military, formally trained, but maybe you grew up in the trade. You worked your way from rifle to knife, honing your craft with every contract. You’ve got blood on your hands but so what. Everybody in this town does—or will soon. The stains on your skin just happen to belong to people who made enemies of those powerful enough not to have to do the dirty work themselves. Some say you don’t have a soul. You know that’s not true. But unlike the saps you can turn yours off when you need to.